Most other people in District Twelve were cold, callous and harsh. Of course everyone in your district had suffered and been tormented by the Capitol and their laws but the distant nature of all your fellow district citizens broke your heart. Your family warned you to try and grow into that mindset. The pensive, cynical, hopelessness everyone else had that was seemingly vital to survival. But you never gave up your softness. Your hope and love and sensitivity. Your small admirations of beauty, your romantic yearnings, your desire for sweetness in your life. You weren't able to part with your soft sweet voice, your friendly smile, the rosiness of your cheeks and your hands always aching to hold another. But someone else in the district survived like you. Peeta Mellark. The baker's son who liked to sit in the field every evening and watch the sunset. You saw him over the months, his gentle hands icing the cakes in the shop, his eyes gazing into the sunset as it bled into twilight, his shy smile whenever someone would look at him. He was like you and perhaps if you banded together you could both keep the soft innocent manner of going through life that you loved so dearly. He sits in the field gently looking into the orange sunset methodically picking fluffy little dandelions from around him and blowing them with little wishes into the sky.